


blackpowder

by erebones



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Canon Compliant, Cunnilingus, F/F, Face-Sitting, Female Ejaculation, Fingerfucking, Friends With Benefits, Hit It and Quit It, Intoxication, Keg POV, Missing Scene, Multiple Orgasms, Spanking, closure boning 101, light spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 23:24:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15617313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erebones/pseuds/erebones
Summary: Keg was made an offer, and it's time to collect.





	blackpowder

**Author's Note:**

> alternate title: it's lunchtime, children >:)
> 
> Picks up pretty quickly where episode 29 leaves off. I tried to keep spoilers light for those of you who are just here for the filthy, filthy smut contained within.
> 
> warning: beau and keg are both pretty tipsy when things kick off, but everyone is a consenting adult (even if they're giant dumbasses).

An all-night bender turns into an all-morning bender. They’re too keyed-up to even think about sleeping, even Caleb, who’s a little manic and red-eyed beneath the grey pallor suffusing his skin. Mr. Clay stays close to him, hovering in his shadow as the wizard goes drink for drink with Nott in a shitty dive bar somewhere off the beaten path. Somewhere they won’t be recognized.

Keg drinks less than she expected to. She still _drinks_ , fuck yeah she does, she’s been through hell and back in the last day or two, treading on the coattails of people still haunted by the spectre of a fresh-dead friend, and she knows how _that_ feels—so she keeps her distance, a little, lets them drink and dance and rage it out. They’re not wanting for company. Shady Creek doesn’t really care what time it is, there’s always people willing to get soused with you and help you make a fool of yourself.

Speaking of which. Keg knocks back the last of her ale—she’s lost count at this point, but it’s enough to make her head fuzzy and the aches of the night before fade into pleasant stupefied nothing—and watches as Beau careens across the bar, scooping up Nott and dumping her over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The goblin girl screeches and kicks her feet, whining bitterly about knocking over the last dregs of her drink. A few stools down, Caleb is passed out face-down in a string of his own drool. They’re all raucous and stupid and goddammit, Keg loves them all dearly.

Floorboards shift audibly under her feet, and Keg turns to watch Mr. Clay slump into a chair across from her. He’s fucking tall as shit, but nothing more than skin and bones, and he fits into the chair all right even though his legs go on for miles. He blinks a greeting at her with his dewy, heavy-lidded cow eyes and turns back to nursing his drink. Keg isn’t sure what it is, but it’s bubbling a little bit like an overpoured ale and there are flecks of some sort of lichen swirling at the edges of the tankard. Better not to ask.

“Do they always do this?” Mr. Clay inquires. His deep-set drawl is even slower than usual. “Go wild after…”

“After almost fucking dying?” She goes to take a swig of her ale and sighs when it comes up empty. “I haven’t been with ’em long enough to know. But I’d say it’s a pretty fucking normal way to get your head on straight after something like that.”

Mr. Clay blinks again, his eyelashes like slow peacock-feathers fanning out in a ceremonial display. “I didn’t mean to, ah… offend you, Miss Keg.”

“Oh, you didn’t. Sorry, I just—talk like that. Sorry.” Keg stands up abruptly, too buzzing-frantic-anxious in her own skin to stay and make polite conversation. She needs to get her hands around something and smash it. She needs to…

Out of the corner of her eye, Beau stands straight again without Nott’s weight bearing her down, a long, lucid smear of elongated limbs and teeth that laughed too brightly. Keg slams her tankard on the table. “I gotta go,” she says vaguely, over her shoulder, no longer paying the firbolg any mind.

She was made an offer. It’s time to collect.

Beau sees her coming, in spite of her preoccupation, and it’s like a spritely, leaping flame has been cupped between two palms, held still for a paralyzed instant. Then a draft, the scrape of chair legs against the ground as Nott attempts to climb back into her stool at Caleb’s side, and the flame gutters.

“Dude, you gotta wake him up,” Beau says, turning away to plaster herself against Caleb’s back. The wizard is unresponsive, even when she tugs on his hair and his collar and the loose drape of his scarf, like a petulant child trying to get the attention of an older sibling. “You can’t fuckin’ sleep here, man, come on.”

“Let him—hic!—alone, Beau,” Nott slurs. She hiccups again and rearranges herself into a passable imitation of a sit, creepy long toes curled over the edge of the bar stool and her knees bent up practically to her elbows. She looks a bit like a deranged frog. Then she catches sight of Keg and shrieks, waving her magical flask in greeting. “Keg! Another round?”

“Nah man, I’m set. Set for _life_.” Keg slides a couple gold across the counter, way more than necessary, but she’s gotta apologize for her idiot friends _somehow_. Both she and the longsuffering bartender pretend not to notice Nott snatching one up and sticking it between her teeth.

“Keg!” Beau shouts, nearly deafening her. “You’re, like, jacked as fuck, right? Will you help me get this lout upstairs? He’s gonna get us all in trouble.”

Keg doesn’t feel particularly _jacked_ right now. Her arms are like jelly, and the ale has made her senses go all chewy and stretched-out, like taffy. The shitty kind that gets stuck in your teeth. But she shrugs, and grins, probing a canine with her tongue, and when she manages to get Caleb slung over her shoulders she doesn’t miss the way Beau rubs her mouth with her hand like she’s trying to hide something.

Then the weight hits her, lighter than it should be but still _fuckin’ heavy_ after the day she’s had, and Keg is silently grateful when Mr. Clay appears to help maneuver them upstairs. There are a few minutes of chaos: Nott running around tripping over everything (her tail, the stairs, the bedpost, Mr. Clay’s tail, Beau’s staff), Caleb half-waking and shouting curses loud enough to wake the dead, Mr. Clay trying desperately to cast some of his fiddly-diddly healing shit without smacking anyone in the face. In the midst of it, Keg finds herself caught up by the hand and whisked away. Carried by the scent of blood and dirt and bitter rye, she goes.

A door slams, and the whirlwind grinds to a halt. Beau stands in the middle of the room for a second, just staring at her. Keg is perfectly happy to stare back. She’s gone dry-mouthed just from being manhandled (woman-handled?), and Beau’s flushed cheeks and scabbed-over knuckles aren’t dissuading anything.

“I know I’m drunk,” Beau announces, “but I really want to fuck you right now.”

Keg swallows around nothing and starts on the buckles of her chest plate. Like it’s some kind of signal, Beau’s frantic butterfly hands start fumbling with her sash, the fastenings on her clothes. It takes her a fraction of the time to get naked, but Keg doesn’t mind. The view is spectacular. Beau is still dirty and sweaty, still black-and-blue and a little frostbite-pink where spells and potions haven’t quite reached, and she’s _alive_. Skinnier than Keg usually likes, but strong, tough-bitten, her fists balled up and her feet planted heavy on the floor like she’s ready for a fight.

“I’m gonna be a minute,” Keg says lamely, eyeing Beau’s adorable little tits and the thatch of dark hair between her legs. Fuck, she’s a pretty one. “Sorry.”

Beau shrugs her angular shoulders. She’s grinning a little, breaking open her split lip, and she wipes the beads of blood away with the back of her hand. “Whatever, man. Take your time.”

Keg’s armor isn’t much of anything special, but it’s seen her through a whole fucking lot, and she’s not one to disrespect what works. She takes her time. Side buckles first, then shoulders, so that the whole thing can lift off and rest on a chair in the corner of the room. Then bracers, greaves. Underneath the plate, a leather jerkin and heavy chainmail tunic wait their turn, caving slowly to Keg’s familiar fingers.

Water splashes on the other side of the room. It’s a real shitty inn in a real shitty city, but there’s at least a cracked ceramic pitcher of rainwater and a tarnished metal bowl on a stand for washing. Beau sniffs the provided rag, grimaces, and digs in her pack for something better—just a few clean menstrual rags, but hell, whatever works.

She’s turned away from Keg, a little, but she’s not trying to hide. Her motions are wide, easy. Unabashed. She wipes thoroughly between her legs and then a little less thoroughly under her arms, breasts, the nape of her neck. Dip, rinse, squeeze. She scrubs the blood and dirt from her face and then saunters to the bed where she stands, hands on bony hips, inspecting the threadbare coverlet.

“D’you think this place has bed bugs?”

“Oh, most definitely.” Keg drapes her chainmail over the back of the chair and folds the jerkin in half before doing the same. Underneath, her linen shirt is damp and sweat-stained. She grimaces as she pulls it off along with her breastband, scrubbing underneath to get rid of the slippery swamp-feeling. “Maybe we should get Clay in here, maybe he can banish ‘em.”

Beau scoffs over her shoulder and flips back the covers, leaning close to inspect the mattress. Keg’s hands slow on the fastenings of her breeches. She wets her dry lips with her tongue. She can see dark hair between Beau’s skinny legs, and for a moment she’s seized with the powerful desire to grab an ass cheek in each hand and just bury herself there. But then Beau stands up, and Keg shakes it off, shoving pants and smalls and socks down and off in one big pile.

“I think we’re in the clear,” Beau says. Her husky voice is strangled, and when Keg looks up, Beau’s eyes are fastened to Keg’s body and her cheeks are ruddy. Charming.

“I’m pretty rank right now,” Keg admits, shrugging. “I don’t know if a whore’s bath is gonna do much about it.”

“It’s fine.” Beau licks her lips and throws herself onto the mattress, propped on her elbows and legs slumping open. Her toes curl a little against the rough-hewn floor. “I’m kind of gross, too.”

Keg eyes her, weighing her options. The sponge-bath needs to happen, but for right now, just for a minute, she lets herself plod forward and nudge Beau’s knees out of the way with her hips. She braces her hands high up on Beau’s thighs, rubbing with her open palms. Beau stares back at her with eyes gone midnight-blue, and Keg feels the brush of a foot against her calf, the barest hint to step forward.

“Hey.” Beau’s throat clicks when she swallows.

Keg smirks. “Yeah. This is gonna be fun.” She leans down, because she can’t resist, and smudges a chaste little kiss just underneath Beau’s navel. Her belly has a little pocket of softness over her hard-won muscle, like most women do, and her pubic hair tickles the stubble on Keg’s chin. A whiff of sweat and musk rises to Keg’s nose as Beau shifts her legs open wider.

It takes all of Keg’s willpower to pull away, but she manages. Beau lets out an audible whine as she walks to the washstand, and Keg snickers under her breath.

“Just give me a second, sweetheart.”

“ _Ugh_ , pet names,” Beau groans, but she’s grinning when Keg glances back at her. She pulls her long legs up and braces the arches of her feet against the bed frame’s edge, folds one arm behind her head.

“Enjoying the show?” Keg asks.

“Obviously.” Beau’s other hand traces an idle path down her sternum and belly, toying with the curls between her legs but not actually touching.

Keg scrubs her face and underarms, takes a little longer with her cunt and under her breasts. They’re a little tender from being pent-up in her armor for so long, and just a few brushes of the cloth are enough to make her nipples stand stiff and upright. The soreness is good. Grounding. Keg dips the cloth one more time and drags it along her core. Water drips down her thighs and dapples the floor between her feet. She sighs, rocking her wrist a little.

“Fuckin’ rude,” Beau grits out. She’s still not touching herself, but her fingers are digging white-knuckled into the bedspread, and that’s an interesting little tidbit. Keg wonders if Beau is the obedient type in bed. She wonders if either of them will be patient enough to find out.

Beau’s playful smirk reels her back toward the bed like the dumbest fish in the world. Keg traces the bruises on her shins and kisses on upturned knee. “Throw me a pillow, idiot.”

“That’s better.”

Beau tosses the requested pillow. It’s flat and lumpy, but better than the floor. Keg arranges it where she wants it and goes to her knees. No point in drawing it out anymore—she knows what she wants, and she knows what Beau wants, her legs wide open and her diaphragm already heaving for breath. Keg slides her thumb from hole to hood, parting her, and takes the barest moment to appreciate the view before leaning in.

Beau is already slick, already blood-hot and ready for her. Keg takes a moment to acquaint herself, tracing spirals over her clit and teasing her with the first inch or so of her thumb. Relishing the tickle of coarse hair against her lips. Beau tastes salty and a little bitter, different from the other types of folks Keg has bedded. Not iron and soil, like a dwarf, or the weird grassy aftertaste of elves, or the warm-baked clay of halflings. She tastes like she punches, hard and fast and all at once, and when she tangles her fingers in Keg’s hair, Keg growls into her cunt and licks at her in earnest. Her thumb presses deep, feeling the heat, the texture. Beau squirms and bites out a curse.

“How’m I doing?” Keg asks, sitting back a bit to breathe. She twist two fingers into her at once, a little corkscrew, petting the smooth, slippery skin just inside, and Beau groans into her forearm. “You ever bedded a dwarf, sweetheart?”

“N-no,” Beau admits. She curses against and rocks her hips against Keg’s hand, shifting up onto her elbows for a better view. Her face is beautifully red, and so is her chest, nipples dark and small and begging for kisses. “Somethin’ you wanna tell me?”

“Oh, no,” Keg says cheerfully. “I’m having a grand old time.” She squeezes Beau’s thigh with her free hand and leans in to kiss up the inside of her thigh, careful to leave smudges of beard burn behind. Another day and she’s gonna have to trim it, before it gets too hot and itchy, but right now it’s at the perfect length to make a pretty girl scream. “Are you?”

“I’m—I,” Beau pants. “I’m great. Would really love your mouth again, though. Just a—ffffuck, just a _small_ critique.”

“Less talking, more eating. Got it.” Keg pinches the spare softness at her tummy and leans in again.

Beau is making her job easy. She’s really fucking responsive, and a little bit rough, bucking against Keg’s grip and riding her face when she needs it. Keg loves it. There’s fun to be had in bedding a girl who doesn’t know what she wants until you give it to her, but _this_. This is easy. Keg figures out quick that Beau like two fingers but not three, likes deep, hard rubbing at first and then a real good fingerblasting when she gets close. And she fucking _loves_ a tongue on her clit, rolling and prodding and flicking right up until she tightens around Keg’s fingers and comes with a swallowed-back cry like she’s used to having to be quiet.

Keg withdraws her fingers to be polite and sucks them clean. “You can make noise, you know,” she says, watching Beau shudder out the aftershocks. “I’m not opposed.”

“Thin walls,” Beau gasps out. “I don’t wanna… what if Caleb…”

“Caleb’s gonna sleep for the next ten years even if the whole goddamn building burns down around his ears,” Keg says, waving a hand. “Or—sorry, bad choice of words?”

Beau wipes the grimace off her face and chivvies Keg up onto the bed with her. “Nevermind, it’s not important. I mean it is, but—fuck, I really don’t want to talk about Caleb right now.”

“Good call.” Keg braces herself on one elbow and finally, finally cups one of Beau’s adorable tits in the palm of her hand, thumb on the nipple, heartbeat nearly audible from here. “Will it be weird if I kiss you?”

Beau reaches up and tugs playfully on one of Keg’s ears. “Not weird at all. C’mere.”

Keg isn’t usually consumed with the raw need to _kiss_ somebody. She likes a good cuddle same as the next, but if she’s banging someone, she’s _banging_. She’s a practical woman. She has priorities. And usually, for the most part, that priority is getting off and getting on with life.

There’s something about Beau that makes Keg want to slow down a little. Savor it. She pulls gently at Beau’s lower lip and kisses her, damp and shallow, keeping her tongue to herself. She can still taste the copper smeared where Beau’s lip broke open when she fell to the floor. Unconscious. Skin gone corpselike, cold and grey beneath Lorenzo’s frosty ire.

“Hey.” Beau is gripping her arm, thumb slotting nicely into the groove where bicep meets shoulder. She’s gripping _hard_ , and there’s a little wrinkle between her eyebrows that Keg wants to smooth away. Kiss away, maybe. _Ugh. Sap._ “Are you okay?”

Keg reels back through her memory of the last few minutes. Her chest is weird and tight and panicky, and her fingers are reddening the skin of Beau’s shoulder. “Oh, fuck. Sorry, I’m sorry, did I hurt you? Fucking—”

“Hey, hey. It’s fine.” Beau reaches up and lays her hand flat against Keg’s cheek. It’s a surprisingly tender gesture, and it shuts Keg up in the middle of her stammering, unwieldy apology. Her lips are red and puffy as they curl into a cheeky smile. “I’ve never kissed someone with a beard before.”

Keg rubs her bristly chin thoughtfully. “Is it terrible?”

“I mean. It’s you, so. Not really.” There’s a flash of something, a shimmer of vulnerability in her blue eyes. Such stunning blue eyes, bright against her dark skin. “Would be better if you kissed me again, though.”

“Well,” Keg says, mollified, “I think I can manage that.”

She shoves Lorenzo aside, all her memories of him, and replaces him with Beauregard, spread below her like a feast. She’s just as lanky and bony and twisty in bed as in battle, and Keg relishes the challenge of wrangling her into holding still. Kisses do this quite well, she finds, and when Beau gets restless, a hot mouth on her tits and a thumb rubbing slow and firm against the smooth, slippery skin below her clit works just as well. Beau isn’t overly fond of a light touch—to no one’s surprise—and Keg is grateful, because she doesn’t think she has it in her to be gentle right now.

“Fuck me,” Beau bites out, digging her fingers into Keg’s shoulders. It’s like a massage, almost, except her hair is also getting pulled and her throat is being marked within an inch of her life as she knuckles Beau’s cunt with a merciless hand. “Fucking— _fuck_ , Keg, just _fuck me_ —”

“Sorry, sweetheart, I left the strap at home,” Keg huffs. She waits for the full-body shudder, the swell of warmth and wet against her hand, and then she rearranges Beau’s stupidly long legs into the way she wants them: one leg stretched out flat for her to sit and grind on, the other propped over Keg’s shoulder so she can get her fingers where Beau likes them.

The change in angle is sweet as honey, molten-hot and dribbling in thick golden gobs of pure pleasure. Keg likes a good messy rut, and Beau’s muscular, stringy thigh provides it—Keg widens her sit and rubs herself off there, gripping Beau’s propped-up knee for support as she gasps for breath. Red-faced and sweat-damp between orgasms, her hair a mess of flyaways spilling from her topknot, Beau drags Keg down to her mouth with arms around her neck. The shift presses Beau wide open, bending her leg all the way back to her chest, but she doesn’t seem to mind the stretch.

“Fuck, you’re flexible,” Keg breathes against her mouth. And then, “Fuck, I’m close—”

“You should—” Beau finds her way lower, just a bit, so that her cunt is pressed to Keg’s thigh in turn, and her voice wobbles dangerously. “You should sit on my face, if you promise not to suffocate me—”

Just the idea is enough. Keg muffles a cry into Beau’s chest and comes, a nice white-hot flare that ebbs off slow, not quite receding to the tideline. She’s already primed and ready for another.

“You like that, huh?” Beau is smirking like she did any work at all, and Keg can’t bring herself to be irritated. She’s just so goddamn _pretty_. Under her dark skin are scores and scores of freckles, barely visible in the low light streaming through the curtains, and the flush on her face and the dew gathered on her sternum and brow are somehow a revelation.

“I might actually suffocate you, though,” Keg remarks, shoving her hair out of her face. “Would be kind of sad, surviving a fight like that and then just…”

“Poetic, though.” Beau frees her knee from Keg’s shoulder and wriggles a bit, pouting and posing until Keg shifts herself enough that Beau is lower on the bed. Keg’s straddling her stomach now, which puts Beau’s soft little breasts at perfect grabbing distance. Keg drags her thumbs over Beau’s nipples and squeezes, gently, watching Beau’s smile go vacant and breathless. “Um…”

Keg leans down and kisses her before she says something she’ll regret. She feels Beau grope her in return, clumsy and delighted, plucking her nipples and feeling the softness of her belly over muscle. Keg is _dense_ , and she knows it, is always a little overconscious of it in bed. She’s trained most of her life to be a fucking brick shithouse, and she’s proud of it, but some people are less equipped to handle an entire fighter’s worth of dwarf putting her whole weight on them. Beau is more equipped than most, but still.

“C’mon,” Beau murmurs against her lips, like she can read the waffling in Keg’s mind. “I want to try it. I like it. I like to be… held. Down.”

The admission is halting, sticking in her throat between kisses. Keg burnishes the arch of Beau’s throat with her stubbled cheek and pets her flyaway hair back from her face. “All right. All right, greedy fucker. Tap out if you want. And go easy on the fingers.”

“I will.” Beau licks her lips and grins, and that’s the last Keg sees of her for a while.

Beau’s mouth is cleverer by far when put to this task. Keg can relate. It’s so much easier to _do_ things than to say them—words are complicated, and layered, and sometimes you use the wrong inflection or squint the wrong way and suddenly you’re up to your eyeballs in someone else’s blood and you can’t remember how you got there.

This is easier. Beau’s hands grip Keg’s outer thighs, holding her in place, and Keg grips the headboard to avoid tearing Beau’s hair out as Beau licks into her core and fucking _goes to town._ Keg arches her back and stares at the ceiling, trying to count the spiderwebbing cracks in the plaster instead of screaming. Beau is not shy—she sucks Keg’s clit into her mouth right away, working her until Keg’s ready to pop, and then works her way down, fucking her shallowly with her tongue. It’s not enough to get off, not until she tips her head and gets her nose rubbing rhythmically _right there_ , and then she starts humming like she’s playing a working song in her head and Keg comes before she can open her mouth for a warning, gushing all over Beau’s chin and throat.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Keg shouts, riding the aftermath out on Beau’s tongue—and then the aftermath turns into the buildup, such a quick turnaround that her spine feels like it’s turning to hot mush. Beau’s fingers dig in greedily, egging her on, and Keg gives in, grinding against her face until she hits another, softer peak and has to bury a scream into her forearm.

Beau slaps her thigh quickly, a little rat-tat, and Keg pushes herself up a little on shaking thighs. “Y’okay?” she slurs, reaching down to wipe some of the moisture off Beau’s face. “Sorry about…”

“Don’t fucking apologize,” Beau gasps. “That was—hmm!” She laughs aloud and turns her head, nibbling a bright red reminder into the downy skin of Keg’s inner thigh. “Does that happen often?”

“The, uh…” Keg flicks her fingers out from her palm in a _sploosh_ sort of motion, and Beau cracks up again. “Yeah. More often than not. Sorry, should have warned you. I know some people aren’t really into it.”

“I don’t care, man, whatever.” Beau sucks her lower lip into her mouth and lets it out again with a soft sound, like she’s reminding herself of the way Keg tastes. “How you doing? Want another?”

Keg arches her back a little, just until her spine pops, and sighs. “In a minute. Want me to get you a cloth? A drink?”

“Nah, I’m all right.” As Keg lifts off her, Beau grabs a fistful of bedding and scrubs her face with it until she’s glowing and dry, apart from the damp, sweaty strands of hair plastered to her temples. She turns into Keg’s body as soon as Keg is settled, hands hovering until Keg grabs one and puts it on her chest. “Hey thanks.”

Keg snickers. “No problem.”

Body humming like a live wire, Beau curls herself around Keg, legs slotting together and head tucked in next to Keg’s ear. She can feel the sweat clinging to her in the small, airless room, can smell the tang and salt of Beau, but she doesn’t mind. She lets her own hands wander, too—finds Beau’s ass for a good grope, then slips a little lower when Beau presses back against her wrist. It’s a bit awkward, with Beau so much taller, but Keg manages to slip a finger along the groove of her pussy from behind, playing in the slick. Beau lets out the sweetest little moan, right against her cheek. It’s slower than before—quieter. The sounds of the day passing by outside seem to dim, replaced with Beau’s shivering exhales and the wet sounds of Keg’s fingers inside her.

“Can you get off like this?” Keg murmurs after a little while. She wriggles her shoulder a bit and presses deeper, dragging a muffled grunt out of her partner. “Is it enough?”

“Almost,” Beau breathes. She picks herself up a bit, moving to lay diagonally across Keg’s chest and give Keg’s arm more room to work. Keg hums approval and drags her fingers free in slow motion before pushing back inside, into the inferno. Like an ancient sundial, turning in increments toward its zenith, Beau moves again, again, until she’s straddling Keg in reverse, mouth fumbling against Keg’s knee while Keg watches her fingers pump in and out of Beau’s cunt appreciatively.

“How about now?”

Beau’s only answer is a small cry and the dull press of teeth to Keg’s thigh. Her thighs tremble a little but she stays perfectly still, perfectly obedient and unmoving as Keg fucks her as tenderly and slow as she knows how. The heat of the moment drags on… and on… Keg studiously avoids her clit at all costs, just waiting, rubbing, feeling Beau’s internal muscles begin to clench and shudder.

Her orgasm is as slow as the rest of it. It comes on in tiny little wavelets, in whimpers that rise and fall in perfect synchronicity. And then, at the very peak, Keg presses deeper against the contractions that try to shove her out and Beau _screams_ , shrieking into the bedding as a hot spurt of liquid shoots against Keg’s wrist and drips down, down onto the sheets.

“There you go,” Keg croons, still fucking her, coaxing her through the aftershocks. She pats Beau’s rear with her free hand, a little bit rough, and Beau’s entire body seizes for a moment. “You like that, sweetheart? Was that nice?” There’s not much in the way of a verbal response, but she can feel Beau’s head nodding against her knee. “You want another?”

“Another… which?” Beau gasps, finally turning her head so that Keg can hear her properly.

“Either. Both.” Keg stills her hand and grins when Beau pushes back greedily. “Another finger? Another pat? Another orgasm?”

“Yes to all,” Beau groans. “ _Please_ , Keg—”

 _Smack._ Keg grins at the feel of Beau tightening around her, the hot shiver that comes after. She eases another finger inside, still keeping up her painstaking rhythm, and rubs the red mark brightening Beau’s asscheek. “Such a stringy thing you are,” she murmurs. “Hardly anything here for me to hit.”

Beau buries her face in her folded arms and tilts her hips up, inviting. “Still feels good.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Keg picks up the pace a little and swats the other cheek, a little less coordinated that before. “Hey kid, while you’re down there…”

Beau takes the hint. Her spine arches as she bends down, getting her mouth on Keg’s snatch. To ease the strain a little, Keg coaxes her back and fucks her in earnest, relishing the soaking wet heat on Beau’s cunt around her fingers. A moment later Beau finds her clit with her tongue, presses the hood back and rubs with two fingers, and Keg barely has the presence of mind to finish her off before she has to withdraw and cling to Beau’s hips with both hands for dear life.

She’s shouting something, Keg realizes distantly—something truly foul in Dwarvish. Beau’s mouth is just _too good_ , so good that the slam of an irritated neighbor pounding on the wall barely registers. Keg drags her back by her hips and buries her cries between Beau’s legs as she comes again, heels digging into the mattress to brace herself against Beau’s mouth.

Beau’s natural lubrication is beginning to run dry, but Keg’s tongue makes up the difference. They’re both too far gone for subtlety, for buildup—too distracted for finesse. Keg rolls her tongue against Beau’s clit and hopes for the best, is rewarded by the feedback loop of Beau’s fingers rubbing her off in quick, finite circles. Keg can feel the last few days beginning to catch up to her, stamina draining from her body, but she can’t stop, too hot and tightly-strung, aroused nearly to the point of oversensitivity but still gasping for more.

Then the brilliant blood-red string snaps, hard, and her last orgasm nearly blacks her out—she shoves her face in Beau’s thigh and her fingers in Beau’s hole, grasping at nothing, grasping at sanity as the deep, unrelenting ocean of need in her core is suddenly drawn to a single bright point and explodes like a flame put to blackpowder.

Keg comes back to herself, to the room, in a slow sepia-toned fade. Beau has rolled off her at some point in the last minute or two, but is still laying with her feet to the headboard and one arm dangling off the mattress as she breathes. Stiff and barely coherent, every muscle smashed to pulp, Keg pushes herself upright and looks across the field of war. Beau’s skin, sweat-sheened, peppered with bitemarks and the lingering effects of nearly dying. The bedding rumpled and damp in places, with sweat and… other, more interesting fluids. Their clothes scattered in various states of disarray across the floor.

With a pitiful groan, Keg totters off the bed and across the room to make use of the chamber pot. When she returns, Beau is still out for the count, but her paper-thin eyelids flutter when Keg presses a rough kiss to her forehead.

“Take a piss before you sleep, kiddo, or you’ll regret it later.” Keg yawns and crawls back onto the mattress, and is asleep in an instant.

She wakes much later, cool and tacky, but content. The window has been left open and the curtains stream outward in the breeze, letting in a sliver of washed-out moonlight. Afternoon is gone, then, and given way to night. Disoriented, Keg props herself up on one elbow and takes stock.

The bed is empty but for her. Beau’s pack and staff are gone, and her clothes. The washbasin looks to have been refilled with fresh water, and a single candle burns on the bedside table, low enough that the stump of wax is nearly gone to liquid in its holder.

A lingering tickle in her palm draws her eyes that way, and Keg squints to see some kind of writing scribbled there. Her pack feels too far away to try and hunt for her spectacles, so she swings her legs over the side of the bed and brings her hand close to her face, palm flat to read whatever’s been written there. Just one word, illuminated by the fading candleglow.

_Thanks._

It feels brittle and unsatisfying for a moment, and then laughter bubbles up in Keg’s chest: fresh and half-familiar, like the taste of a favorite wine gone long untasted. It’s so… _Beau_. Neither of them are the letter-writing type (Keg’s apology to Nott notwithstanding), and the idea of Beau writing a proper _note_ just feels… not like her. This is her. This is Beau _all over._

Speaking of which. Keg probes the inside of her mouth with her tongue. She can still taste Beau, tangy-salty-sweet trapped behind her lips. She sticks her tongue out and plucks a single hair off it, dark and coarse and curly. Kegs snorts and flicks it away.

Well. It’s night, no telling how late. The raucous sounds of Shady Creek in revelry sift in through the open window, drawing her out of bed to the washstand, and to her shirt, and then the rest of her clothes. Everything she owns needs a wash, including herself, and her boots are still thick with the crusted muck of the Savalier Wood. There’s a place down the track a little ways that only charges a few copper to do your own scrubbing, and in Keg’s experience the theft rate isn’t too terribly high. She fastens her trousers, pulls on her boots. Fingercombs her hair out of her face and reaches for her armor.

Through the open window the moon is a friendly circle of white light, very nearly full. Tomorrow maybe, or the day after, it’ll be fully gravid in the sky, bright and full of promise. Good light to travel by. A good omen. Keg hoists her pack over one shoulder and leaves the room key on the rickety bedside table.

It’s time to figure out what comes next.

**Author's Note:**

> a few friendly reminders: in real life it is not cool to bone while under the influence of substances. don't do it kids. Also, folks with vaginas, seriously: go pee after you have sex. You'll thank me later. 
> 
> I'm busy being gay over at @erebones on tumblr, feel free to come say hi!


End file.
